


conflated

by lamentum



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Morning After, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Sleepy Cuddles, implied sexual content if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentum/pseuds/lamentum
Summary: Free thought provided too much to worry over.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	conflated

“It’s odd.”

You would never miss the oddly mechanical lilt to Connor’s voice. An almost unnoticeable buzz, only detectable now from the way you had nuzzled into the crook of his neck, selfishly leeching the warmth his form emitted. All the subtleties in the fleetingly unimportant, inhuman ways he presented himself (the impossibly smooth pads of his fingers, the way he was intimately aware of all the ways to unwind you) and yet somehow, it was comforting— because it was so very _him._

“What is?” You could barely find the strength to wrap your lips around the words, as elementary as they were, reduced to nothing but weightless limbs and a pleasantly numbed mind in the wake of what was probably the best sleep you’d had in months. His palm rested flat across your side, engulfing your ribcage- the two of you were on your sides facing one another, though with your body practically melted into his as he stared distantly out the window, admiring the cloudy sky overlooking Detroit.

“You are… weak.”

You snorted. “Nice observation.”

“Humans made us to be… better, than them,” he pondered aloud, dragging his palm in slow, methodical circles over your skin. “To be capable, to adapt quickly. To be perfect where they couldn’t.” You hummed, lazily drawling off, but still an effort to show he had your attention no matter how blissfully comfortable you were. “They purposefully created something that could outwit them in every way.” His gaze lowered to you, dragging slowly over every inch of exposed skin, enraptured by the allure of imperfection. “And now, we have free will.”

You stirred from the boneless pile that weighed your drowsy mind, shifting ever so slightly, a light crack coming from this and that bone and joint, and craned your neck back just enough to look at him, unsurprised to find that he was already prepared to meet your stare. The arm that had lazily been thrown over his waist dragged itself up _(a journey to something righteous)_ and cupped his cheek with the care of a newly made mother. “Connor,” it was a rasp, no doubt pestering that ever present need to care for you that told him he should have fetched a glass of water with your daily medication before you woke. “I’m lost here.” It was a little teasing, with a slight quirk of a smile playing at your lips, and he couldn’t help but relax, ever so slightly, expression softening at the mere visage of you. “What’s eating at you, huh?”

“I could break you.” Yet his tone held no malice. No threat, nor curiosity of how his hands could mold pain between them. And in his eyes, tender as they were, was the hint of a quiet remorse; of the acknowledgement that his eternity was infinitely longer than yours. That the hand that cradled your rib cage could just as easily crush it, with one false jerk. A misfired signal. A one where there was supposed to be a zero. “How could I live with myself?” And the sad, pitiful quiver of his lower lip, the disturbed furrow in his brow, had you cooing lovingly in seconds, gathering him in your arms and turning to lay flat on your back as you cradled him to your chest. 

“Oh Connor,” it was a sigh, weak and meaningless, and yet a prayer, for whatever God that had made man to have anticipated making a heaven for him too. “You could never hurt me, you know that.” A kiss to his crown, a hope that love would be enough to stave the demons off. “Never.” And he clung to you, fingers digging into your skin with a desperation you hadn’t known capable to him, as though this body that held you was his only anchor, his lifeline— salvation for a wrongly damned soul. “Your hands were made for loving.” You managed to coax one off your body, lacing your fingers with his and bringing his knuckles to your lips. “These hands held me and consoled me and have done nothing but make me feel safe. _You_ are not a mistake.” You nuzzled his crown, hopeful. “You have a home here.”

And he shuddered, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone, taking the time to map a slow, tedious trail over your décolletage until his lips had rested atop your heart, feeling the familiar _thump_ pumping rhythmically, safely nestled in your being, calming him in some semblance of a lullaby. 

“This…” His voice was soft, fragile; the buzz had disappeared. And his desperate grip had slackened, holding your body with a care that was saintlike. 

A man brought to his knees by a merciful redemption.

“This is home.”

**Author's Note:**

> i recently replayed dbh... twice. that was in january but then this just kinda hit me outta no where at 1 in the morning and had me squinting at the notes app on my phone half asleep while i wrote this.
> 
> kinda sad how overwhelmed androids could become with free thought but sad angst is what i write babey!
> 
> thank you for reading! <3


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